


Countdown

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dyscalculia, Gen, Learning Disabilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 14:51:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grantaire doesn't learn things half as quickly as his friends, and it starts getting to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Countdown

Grantaire's phone is burning a hole in his pocket and he ignores it, growls under his breath, starts again. He'll get this. He just needs to think of the shapes of the coins, the colours of his notes. He knows how much he owes Bossuet and he knows he has the money for it, he just needs to _put it together_ and he should just give up and use his calculator and he knows it, but he wants to do this himself. It's simple enough in theory. He can add the twenty euro note to the ten and five euros easily enough, but then he has seven euros in coins and for the life of him, he can't figure out what it adds up to and if it's enough or if it's too much and he's trying not to lose his patience, trying to be subtle about the way that he's counting on his fingers, except he keeps missing numbers anyway because his friends are talking at the other table and it doesn't matter what they're talking about, the sound of their voices in eager conversation always draws Grantaire's attention without fail.

"I always wonder whether it was a wise decision to do a double major when it comes to exam period," Combeferre is saying, and Grantaire suddenly understands why his face looks drawn, why he doesn't look like he's been getting enough sleep lately. "Why did anybody let me do medicine _and_ law?"

"Oh, please," Courfeyrac laughs. "You're top of your class in med and you're kicking ass in law, I don't know what you're complaining about. And Enjolras, you can stop nodding along, you don't even have to study before our exams and you get amazing grades. It's not fair."

Grantaire grits his teeth. He'd be able to deal with it if not for the fact that he knows that Courfeyrac is just as intelligent, most of his friends are, and Grantaire needs to scramble to keep up, needs to go home and look up the issues they discuss at meetings because he doesn't always understand them the first time, and being one meeting behind on everything is still better than being completely lost because at least this way he can make it look like he understands enough that his friends won't make him leave. 

"Grantaire," Bossuet says, patient as ever, "that's seven euros more—"

"Just take your stupid money," he snaps, getting to his feet and his voice is loud, the scrape of his chair against the floor even louder. 

His friends stop mid-conversation, turning to him in unison and they all look concerned and well-meaning and Grantaire can see all too easily how that would turn to pity if he explained himself and he can't stand it. 

"If you're all done congratulating yourselves for being so damn smart," he mutters, with a mock-bow in the direction of Enjolras' table. He turns around and walks away, glad for the fact that Bossuet doesn't call for him to stay, and neither do the others. 

He walks home with his hands shoved in his pockets, feeling angry, feeling _stupid_ and this is all wrong because this is the one group of friends that he isn't meant to be wallowing in all of that with. They're accepting, they're caring and he knows that, somewhere at the back of his mind, but it's currently being drowned out by the fact that he can't do half of what they do, even if he had ten times as long and the entire thing is exhausting, makes him want to crawl into bed and not bother getting out for a while.

So he does exactly that. He turns his phone on silent and leaves it on his desk as he gets into bed, pulling the covers over his head and trying to ignore the waves of embarrassment and frustration that crash over him as he tries to get to sleep. 

He can't bring himself to see his friends for another two days and the time in between isn't pleasant at all. He drinks and smokes more than he should, until he runs out and has to go to the shop and use the damn calculator on his phone to figure out how much money he needs to feed into the self-serve checkout. At least it's not a clerk who will lose their patience at him, but it's a small comfort as he walks back to his apartment, ignoring all the missed calls and messages he hasn't opened on his phone. 

When he can finally bring himself to go back to the Musain, his friends are all there. He's struck by just how relieved they look to see him, and Jehan's the first to his feet, walking over to Grantaire and taking his arm, leading him over to sit at one of the tables.

"We missed you," he says gently.

"I'm sorry," Grantaire mumbles, and Jehan's grip on his arm tightens a little.

"You don't need to apologise." It's Enjolras who speaks this time. "In fact, I think we're the ones who owe you an apology. We clearly upset you, and that's the last thing that any of us want to do."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Courfeyrac smiles at him, warm and welcoming as ever, "but if you want to, you know that we'll listen."

Grantaire glances over at Bossuet and Joly, because they both know. It's impossible to spend as much time with Grantaire as they do without noticing just how much time he takes to process things sometimes. He's lucky to have gotten away with it for so long with the others. 

Bossuet nods encouragingly, and Joly joins him. Grantaire takes a deep breath, and Jehan lets go of his arm, only to place a comforting hand on his shoulder instead.

"Look, it's nothing," Grantaire begins, and that's a bad way to start, because it's clearly _something_ , but everyone just sits there and listens to him patiently. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts and tries not to feel self-conscious about the fact that it takes him a little longer than it would for anyone else in the group. "It's just that… I'm not good at a lot, okay? I'm not good at learning, or thinking, and I know it's annoying because I take such a long time. I'm always behind with whatever you're talking about because while you're coming up with new ideas now, I'm still trying to sort out what we talked about last week and I just stay behind, I can't even add numbers together and I _know_ I'm stupid, trust me, people have been pretty eager to point that out since I was just a kid in school—"

"You're not stupid," Feuilly says gently. 

"Are you kidding me?" Grantaire laughs. "You teach yourself languages _for fun_. I couldn't even teach myself something if my life depended on it. I can't even learn in a classroom."

"Everyone has different needs," Combeferre speaks up. "Maybe you would benefit from one-on-one teaching instead, to make sure you understand something before moving on."

Grantaire shrugs. "Who would even have the patience to do that, though?"

"I would," Enjolras tells him. "We all would. There is not one single person in this room who would mind sitting down with you and helping you understand anything, Grantaire. Whether it be the topics we discuss during our meetings, or something as simple as adding two numbers together. We'll help you."

"You would?" Grantaire asks, awed.

"Of _course_ we would." Bahorel nods firmly. "We could even figure out who's best at teaching what."

"Only if you want to," Jehan says quietly. "What do you say?"

For the longest time, Grantaire can't say anything at all. He doesn't know how to articulate how much he loves his friends, how much he appreciates them, and it's not his thoughts that are a jumbled mess this time, but his heart caught in his throat. He settles for nodding silently, and when Jehan hugs him tightly, he knows that it's enough. The others join in, wrapping their arms around him, and he can do nothing but hold onto them in response, but he knows that they understand.


End file.
